


Examination

by LMT



Category: Eastern Promises (2007)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirill attempts to push Nikolai's buttons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Examination

 

A/N: Found an old Eastern Promises fic on an old computer.   Kinda dark, like the movie itself.  Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

Nikolai was sprawled out on one of the couches, teasing some girl’s ear with his tongue. Kirill wasn’t even aware of moving closer, until suddenly he realized that he was crouched right next to them, so near that his breath ruffled the driver's hair. He broke the spell with speech.  “You’re like a fucking natural, man.  How old were you your first time?”

Nikolai pursed his lips, sour. “Oh, are we playing examination again?”

His attitude riled Kirill suddenly.  “Yes, we are playing motherfucking examination!” He plopped down on Nikolai’s lap and shooed the girl away. “And the question is: how old were you the first time you fucked a bitch?”

Nikolai heaved a sigh. “Get off me.” Kirill did, but stared him down until he shrugged and said: “I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen. Heh: I was fourteen, too.”

“Everybody starts when they're fourteen. Look, Kirill, I’m-”

“Not her,” Kirill interrupted, pointing. He swallowed down a boozy laugh. “She won’t be fourteen til September.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes, and with a gesture ordered all the girls out of the room. “You’re drunk, okay? Let’s get you home to bed…”

“Of course I’m drunk – it’s midnight on a Saturday!” Kirill jumped up and swung around the stripper pole, exhilarated to have the cunts cleared out and Kolya all to himself. “All right: have you ever fucked two girls at once?”

“What the fuck would I do with two girls at once? Sit down – you’re making me dizzy.”

“Mm,” Kirill agreed, sitting. “Also, two girls would be twice the bitching.”

With a sigh of resignation Nikolai poured himself a drink and sat back, eyebrows raised attentively, awaiting the next question. Kirill grinned. Somehow harassing him never got old. “Okay,” he said. “Have you ever been fucked by a man?” He expected a glare, a sharp comment, maybe even some genuine anger this time.

He did _not_ expect Nikolai to shrug and say into his glass: “Yes. Once.”

“ _What_!” Kirill sat up so fast that vodka spilled everywhere. “You never told me that, you fucking-! No… you’re shitting me… Really?”

“Yes, really. I didn’t like it,” he added after a moment. He took another sip. “I was eleven.”

Kirill stared for a moment. It was strange and unbalancing, the fact of Nikolai trusting him with something so personal. It twisted his stomach oddly. He didn’t know what to make of it.

So he drank another sip – a long one – and just returned to his original, half-baked intentions of seducing his driver somehow. He was too drunk and off-guard to be subtle about it. “ _I_ have never been fucked by a man,” he declared. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, maybe I would like it.  Who knows.”

Nikolai ignored him.

“So?” he pressed, feeling reckless now, wanting to push. He was drunk, he was agitated, he was… _jealous_. It made no sense, he knew it, but he couldn’t stop. “So what does it feel like?” Nikolai still didn’t answer, or look, so Kirill nudged him and asked again. “Come on: I asked you question. What does it feel like?”

Nikolai slammed his glass down on the coffee table and stood up. “Like having your fucking guts ripped open.”  It was the closest he had come in a while to raising his voice, and he soon quieted again. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

Kirill blinked a few times and then tried to stand up, too. He had to hold on to the wall. He took a step towards Nikolai’s back, and for the first time in a long time found himself wishing he was sober, cursing himself for being such a fucking drunk.   He wished he knew what to do, but he was so far gone he wasn’t even sure whether this would make things better, worse, or what. Maybe it wouldn’t even matter.

So he locked his arms around Nikolai’s waist and hid his face between the hard, tense shoulderblades. “Kolya. Listen.  I’m sorry, okay?”

“For what?” Nikolai snorted at once. “You didn’t do it.” Already he was himself again.

Kirill laughed, then sniffled to clear his nose.  Except that made him smell that unmistakable combination of cigarettes and leather, and it was so good he had to do it again.

“I hope you’re not blowing nose on my jacket.”

It was affection, from Nikolai, and it made him ache. Which made him turn mean. “Yeah, and what are you going to do if I am?” He backed off and wiped his face, knowing he was about to hate himself and still not able to stop. “Fuck me?”

Nikolai stiffened, then let out a long, slow breath. “You keep saying that, Kirill, and you’ll give people the wrong idea about you,” he said neutrally.

It turned out distance was even more painful than affection. Kirill retaliated at once. “About _me_? You’re the one who gets _fucked_ by men!”  He took a step closer, fully expecting to be hit in the face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about? You just said-”

His breath stopped when Nikolai whipped around to face him. There was a long silence. Nikolai’s eyes were a solid sheet of ice, but his voice was as mild and detached as ever. “I said nothing.”

“No-.  Wait.” Kirill shook his head to clear it.  _Wait?_  Nikolai was standing in exactly the same position. (Why did it feel like he’d suddenly moved twenty feet away?) “Kolya…”

He held up a hand. “You need anything else tonight, boss?” He didn’t even stress the word, but Kirill still felt it like a knife wound. “No? Okay. Then goodnight. And maybe it’s time to put down bottle; I think you’ve had enough.”

Now really _would_ be the time to say “wait,” but it caught in his throat and he just stared until Nikolai was gone.

He smashed the bottle against the table and then sat down on the floor. He propped himself up on his elbows, head in his hands, staring at the tabletop so vacantly that it was the smell of copper, and not the red puddle growing right in front of him, that tipped him off. 

He gasped: blood was _sheeting_ down his forearm; apparently he’d slapped the broken bottle somehow.   He pulled out a big shard of glass. He watched the gash bleed a moment, then pinched its edges together half-heartedly.   His first instinct was to wait for Nikolai to come fix it and then he laughed. His shadow had gone away for the first time in forever, and would not be back to check on him til morning at least. And in the meantime – this got him all drunkenly teary – there would be nobody else coming to take care of him. Nobody at all.

“I could bleed to fucking _death_ ,” he slurred out loud to the empty room. He raised his voice. “You hear that? Any of you fucking bitches want to come save me?” No answer. He laughed. He folded his arms on the table and pillowed his head in them. He smelled blood and lots of vodka. He lolled his tongue out for it, but the tiny sharp sting of a glass splinter made him give up.

He laughed again and wondered whether he really _might_ bleed to death. It made him think of something Nikolai had said to him recently, something wise: “In this business, sometimes the biggest danger comes from the stupidest things.”

He thought about trying to say it aloud but the best he could manage was: “…Stupid.”

As he passed out he smelled cigarettes and leather. “ _Da_ , Kirill.”

* * *

The End.

Let me know if you enjoyed!  There should be a handful of these lurking on an old hard drive of mine somewhere and I may try to dig them up.


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